


The Lure of Fishing

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-21
Updated: 2006-03-21
Packaged: 2019-02-02 15:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12729558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Daniel remembers a childhood lesson.





	The Lure of Fishing

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

"What is wrong with that boy anyway?"

"Gerald, you know it takes longer for some to settle in," Gertie reminded him, her attention more on the meal she was preparing then on her husband.

"It's been three months. He should have at least unpacked by now, don't you think?"

"You remember what Mrs. Perkins said when she dropped him off. He has been bounced from one home to the next. I guess he is just waiting to bounce again."

"Maybe that isn't such a bad idea."

"Gerald," Gertie's voice held a stern warning that her foster children quickly came to recognize. "You stop that right now. He hasn't been a bit of trouble. There is no reason to send him back to Social Services. Mrs. Perkins was right when she said all he needed was some stability in his life and we are that stability. There will be no more of this kind of talk."

Gerald sighed as he watched his wife cook dinner. When people looked at Gertie, they saw a short, round woman with a perpetual smile, graying hair, and watery blue eyes. Her simple manner and uneducated accent often led people to dismiss her as unimpressive. Gerald knew better. She was fiercely loyal, determined, and infinitely patient. With their own children grown and gone, Gertie had turned to the unwanted children locked in the foster care system. The rougher the child's background, the more patient she became. The lonelier the waif, the more nurturing she grew. Frightened children found in her a safe refuge.

This latest one was a puzzle. Gertie hadn't been able to draw him out. He looked right through her when she spoke to him. He reacted with indifference to her many attempts to include him in family activities. A fair-haired boy of ten, he seldom spoke. It wasn't so much that he was moody or shy as much as disinterested. He seemed . . . disconnected. Their other three foster children complained he was creepy.

"Maybe you could take him fishing tomorrow, wouldn't that be nice?"

Gertie's voice broke in on his musings. Fishing, huh? If there was one thing he never needed an excuse for, fishing was it. How bad could it be to take the boy out on the lake? It's not like he would scare the fish away with jabbering.

The sun rose over a crystal clear day. The lake already sported several small fishing boats, the mariners drinking coffee and baiting lines. Across the water, snatches of conversations could be heard as the fishermen geared up. In the small boat near the southern edge of the lake, the occupants hadn't exchanged a word since leaving the house before dawn.

Gerald baited a hook and handed the rod and reel to the reluctant boy sitting next to him.

"Here, take this." He held out the rod for several long minutes. The boy stared at him but made no move to comply. Gerald waited. Cautiously the boy reached out and took the rig from him. He held it awkwardly. Gerald baited his own hook, then drew the boy's attention to himself. He demonstrated how to cast. When the boy just sat there, Gerald drew his line back in and then cast it out again.

"See. That's how it's done. Now you try it." Uncooperative silence met his suggestion. Heaving a sigh from the depths of his soul, Gerald turned away. What had he expected? "If you can't relax by enjoying a beautiful day fishing, I don't know how you can."

"Reading," the quiet voice seemed to drift on the morning breeze.

Startled, Gerald turned back to the boy. He still sat holding the rod, his eyes fixed on the rippling water. "Well, yeah. I know you brought a lot of books with you. What's a kid want with all those big books?"

"They were my parents'."

"Ah well. It's nice to hold on to something that belonged to them. Still, you can't live in books." If Gerald had hoped the conversation would roll forward, he was mistaken. The boy didn't respond. Gerald waited for a minute. "What are your books about? Any adventure stories? Pirates, maybe? I loved 'Treasure Island' when I was a kid."

"Egypt."

"Like King Tut?"

"Tutankhamun. He lived over 3,300 years ago in the New Kingdom. He died a young man around 1325 BC."

"Oh." Gerald wasn't sure what to say. The school system had placed Daniel in the accelerated program immediately. His teachers seemed as impressed with his intelligence as the social worker had been, but Gerald hadn't heard the boy speak more than a few words since he arrived in their home. He only came out of his room if he had to. He wondered how they were going to get through the morning if ancient Egypt was the only topic. Eventually the boy dropped his line into the water. They fished in silence. Gerald caught several good-sized beauties. Not once did the boy look up. When his bobber dipped below the surface, he didn't seem to notice.

"Pull it up. You have a bite." Gerald leaned over him, ready to grip the pole. The boy flinched away, dropping the rod. Astonished at his reaction, Gerald sat back. Both flushed red and avoided looking at the other as they returned to their lines. The bobber had stopped moving.

The silence hung heavy as the hours passed. Closing the lid of the catch box, Gerald looked at the bowed head of his passenger. He steadfastly stared at the water, his rig held loosely in one hand. Not even the fish came near him. 'This isn't going to work,' Gerald thought, 'if the boy doesn't decide it's going to work. Heaven help me, but I have no idea what to do with the child.' With a mental shrug, he began to unload the cooler.

"Well, look what Mrs. Gertie packed for us. Ham and cheese sandwiches, pickles, potato salad, boiled eggs, and, oh yes, chocolate cake." After a moment's silence, he added, "You can put the rod down now. It's time to eat."

"Here, this is for you." Handing the boy his share, Gerald lost no time tucking in. "Delicious. Let no one say I didn't marry Gertie for her cooking. Take a bite, boy. You'll never taste any better. What that woman can do with a potato is downright sinful."

Lunch was eaten without another word. As Gerald packed up, he couldn't help but wonder what this boy would have been like if his parents had lived. From the social services report, they knew his parents had been scholars. No doubt, the child would have flourished under their attention. The only animation he had seen the boy display was for books. Gerald knew he and Gertie would never be mistaken for intellectuals. Maybe this child needed more then they could give.

"Listen. Are you happy living with Gertie and me?" The boy looked up in surprise. "You know if you don't think things are working out, we can call . . ." Gerald couldn't finish that sentence. The look in the boy's eyes, the anguish and pain, were overwhelming. He had ducked his head and turned away, but Gerald had seen it. The boy had been waiting for this, he suddenly realized. He expected to be shuttled off. Gerald remembered the packed bags tucked in the closet as Gertie's comment about stability drifted through his head. "I didn't mean we wanted to send you back. Don't get me wrong. I just thought if you didn't want to stay with us, you know, all you had to do was say so. You wouldn't hurt our feelings. If you aren't comfortable in our house, then . . ."

"No, don't call Mrs. Perkins," the boy cut him off. "I, uh, I don't mind being with you and Mrs. Gertie."

"You sure? 'Cause you don't act like it. No one expects you to go outside and play catch with the other kids if you don't want to. But you could actually speak to them once in a while. A word or two a dinner would be nice. You know, take part in the conversation."

"I never know what to say."

"How come?" He was answered by a shrug. "Talk about what you know."

"No one cares about what I know. I tried to show the other kids some pictures in one of my books, but they just ran off." 

"Are all your books about pyramids and stuff?"

"Yes. My parents were Egyptologists."

"Oh, well um. . ," Gerald wasn't sure what to say. "Maybe you could talk about the shows you kids watch."

"They watch dumb stuff. None of it's real."

"What about school? I know you're all in different grades, but there's got to be something you can talk about?"

"No one talks to the kids in the accelerated program. It's like we've got some disease."

"They're just jealous 'cause you're smarter than they are." The boy shifted impatiently, turning away. The stock answer wasn't what he needed to hear. Waving a hand in a vague gesture, Gerald tried again. "I don't know. You've got to make an effort to find common ground. Sometimes you've got to work at fitting in."

"But I don't want to fit in."

"Oh, come on. What do you want to be by yourself for? Wouldn't you rather have some kids to pal around with?"

"They only want to play ball and watch TV. It's boring. There isn't anyone that I can talk to about stuff I like."

"Like Egypt?"

"And history and mythology."

"Shoot, I don't know anybody that talks about stuff like that." The boy had gone silent again. Scratching his head, Gerald tried a different tack. "You can't hide from the world by staying in your room and wallowing in old books. Knowledge is a great thing, but that ain't all there is to living. You're going to have to figure out how to get along with other people some time."

"No one cares about getting along with me."

"You don't give anyone much of a chance, do you? You don't talk to anybody. You hole up in your room all the time. How're you going to get to know anyone if you won't let anyone get to know you?" Gerald waited for a response, but the boy only stared at the rippling lake. Doggedly, he kept going. "You want other folks to be interested in what you like, you've got to take an interest in what they like, even if you think it's dumb or boring. You got to invest some time is all I'm saying."

"Why should I bother?" The question was a quietly spoken as it was sincere. Gerald scratched his head as he scrambled for an answer that would help bridge the gap between this strange boy and the rest of the world. 

"All I can tell you is friends are worth the trouble. It isn't just having someone to hang out with. It's having someone to talk to, someone who listens because they care about you, and what you have to say. Friends share the good and the bad. Just knowing that someone is there for you can help you get through the most miserable times. Look, I know losing your parents when you were so young was rough and the system jerking you kids around from one place to another makes it that much harder to get your head settled, but shutting out other people isn't going to shut out the pain. All the knowledge in the world can't fill up all the empty spaces inside."

Nothing. The boy had withdrawn into himself again. Gerald sighed. This was way out of his league. It was time to admit defeat.

"Okay, let's call a truce. If you want to read all the time, fine. You don't want to jump into the dinner conversation that's okay too. But I want you to know that you don't have to stay clamed up in your room if you don't want to and if you do, well I guess we can live with it." He paused for a response. Still nothing. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Me and Gertie aren't educated people. We don't know anything about ancient Egypt or stuff like that, but you can talk to us if something's bothering you. Okay? We're here to help you. We can't take the place of your parents and we aren't going to try. You don't even have to think of us as family, but you've got a place with us as long as you need. Think you can live with that?"

It was a while before the boy nodded. Gertie wanted to give the boy stability. He needed that - even Gerald could see it. What he needed more was a home and people who could relate to him more than Gerald could. Maybe one day he would find that. Gerald fervently hoped so.

Rummaging around his tackle box, he pulled out a small object. "Here, take this. It's for luck." He held the thing out until the boy reached out to accept the little piece of pierced and painted wood. After examining it closely, he looked up with a question in his eyes. "It's a lure my Uncle Rick gave me the first time I went fishing with him. He whittled it when he was a boy. Said it took him a week to get the balance perfect. Done right, it'll attract fish. Too long or too heavy, and the fish will ignore it. I've been using it for years. Works like a charm."

"Why give it to me?"

"I want you to keep it as a reminder that some things you have to spend time shaping to make them work out right. Then again, maybe I just figure you need all the help you can get in the fishing department. You haven't caught a thing all day. What say we head back to the house? I think I've had enough of the lake for today."

* * *

"Think about it, Daniel: clear blue skies, beautiful scenery, air crisp and clean. Fish practically jumping in the boat. How can you resist?" Jack turned on the charm as he leaned against his friend's desk. "What do you say? Want to go fishing with me this weekend?"

"No." Daniel's answer was firm. He had a number of archeological journals he was planning on reading, a particularly tricky bit of translation to research, and some e-mail to catch up on.

"You've been sitting in this dark hole for too long. You need some fresh air. It'll do you good." Jack wasn't about to admit defeat so easily.

"I have things to do."

"Give it a rest, Daniel. We've got three days leave. Don't tell me you're going to sit in here and work. You're supposed to get some rest and relaxation, catch some Z's, have some fun. You know? All work and no play makes Danny a dull boy."

"What about Teal'c or Sam?"

"Naw, Teal'c is going to see his son and Carter's got plans. They're actually having a life, unlike a certain archeologist I know."

"Jack, thanks for the invitation, but no. I don't want to go fishing, end of story. Okay?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure you're sure?" Jack flashed his most winsome grin.

"Jack," Daniel's tone held a warning.

"Okay, but you are going to regret it. I'll be back Monday refreshed and invigorated and you'll still be here squinting in the dark. You're going to ruin your eyes, you know."

"Jack, go away."

Jack pushed off the desk and started for the door. "Your loss, Daniel." As Jack sauntered out, he added, "I'm leaving later on tonight. Call if you change your mind."

Daniel shook his head. A couple of years ago he had taken Jack up on an offer of a weekend fishing trip. He had been bored out of his mind, lost a quart of blood to hungry mosquitoes, and ended up quarreling with him. Why in the world would Jack think he wanted to do that again? Misery loves company, no doubt. Well, he had better ways to spend his down time.

Turning back to his research, his eye fell on a small object sitting on his desk. It was something he had carried with him for years as a good luck piece. He picked up the small, smooth shape. It was faded and worn, its paint all but gone. He closed his fingers over the lure. The years had proven Gerald right about the value of friendship. His gaze traveled across the cluttered desk to the framed team photograph. The rewards were definitely worth the work involved. Jack smirked up at him from behind the glass. Some friendships just took more work than others.

He laid the lure next to the frame. Maybe it was time he gave fishing another try. He could always bring his journals and laptop with him to the lake. That would alleviate the boredom factor and an economy-sized can of insect repellent would take care of the bug problem. Slapping the folder in front of him closed, he pushed back from his desk. He'd worked long enough in his translations. It was time to work on something equally important. If he hurried, he could still catch Jack before he left the mountain.


End file.
